


Waffling

by ThayerKerbasy



Series: The Misadventures of Growley and Squirrel [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coffee, Demon Dean, Fluff, M/M, POV Crowley, Post-Episode: s09e23 Do You Believe In Miracles?, Pre-Episode: s10e01 Black, Tea, Waffles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-25 08:57:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9812168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThayerKerbasy/pseuds/ThayerKerbasy
Summary: A long and entertaining night had become a quiet morning, and without distractions, Crowley had plenty of time to think.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [grey2510](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grey2510/gifts).



It had been a long night, but a rewarding one in the end. After some of the best sex Crowley could remember, he sat on a sofa warming his toes by the fire, with Dean Winchester’s head resting on his lap. There were easily half a dozen things demanding the personal attention of the King of Hell, none of which he was in any hurry to deal with. Maybe it was just for one day, but he had decided he was on holiday.

Dappled light shone through the windows of Sparky’s hunting cabin, muted sunlight on Sir Knight’s abandoned El Sol beer cast a soft glow around it, the trees outside sheltered the cabin’s inhabitants from being awoken by the morning sun. Small birds sang warbling songs, each trying to outdo the other, their songs an ever-changing melody over the constant rustling of insects. It was an atmosphere that encouraged introspection and daydreaming. It was actually a little worrisome.

Crowley couldn’t remember the last time he had voluntarily spent time in the woods. Once away from the fast paced city atmosphere, the siren’s song of “what if” grew stronger. _What if I didn’t bother to tend to Hell today? What if I could have the respect from being King without all the crushing responsibility?_ His thumb traced idle circles over the back of Dean’s neck. _What if I didn’t have to do it alone?_

It was a seductive thought, and was the point of everything he had been working towards. Being the King of Hell was nothing like he had imagined it would be. There was more work, more stress, and not nearly the veneration he had imagined. There were perks, sure — unprecedented access to information, mostly-loyal minions, and access to the power of all of Hell’s souls — but most days he wasn’t sure if the perks were worth it anymore. It was too much power to hand to some reckless, power-hungry demon and too much responsibility to shoulder and the only solution was to find someone to share in both.

Footsteps crossed the floor above his head on their way to the loo. Moments later, the sound of the shower running joined the songs of the birds and insects. That normally would have been Crowley’s cue to get up — to get dressed and look respectable — but for once he couldn’t be arsed. His hand slid down to rest on Dean’s blanket-covered hip where it felt like it belonged.

Minutes passed like seconds while his mind was full of drifting half-thoughts. The sound of the shower came to a halt, snapping Crowley’s thoughts back to the present. Birds still sang, insects still rustled, but Crowley kept his focus on the sounds of the man on the floor above him. Given where he had come from, it would be Sparky who was toweling dry, then crossing the hall back to his room, then undoubtedly getting dressed. Crowley spared a moment to wonder which rooms housed the other brothers, concluding by process of elimination that they must be in the rooms at the end of the upstairs hall.

The birdsong truly was mesmerizing. By the time Sparky descended the stairs, Crowley was lost in thought again, imagining whether Dean would want his own office in Hell, or if he would be content with a throne beside Crowley’s own. It was hard to imagine Dean wanting an office, but he might very well want his own space.

It was a light tapping on his shoulder that alerted Crowley to Sparky’s presence and drove home the dangerousness of the birds. If he had zoned out like that in Hell, he ran equal odds of being assassinated or discredited. Chagrined, he turned to see Sparky holding out Crowley’s phone, which had been left upstairs. There was a softness to Sparky’s expression and just a hint of a smile. Reclaiming his phone with the hand not on Dean’s hip, Crowley mouthed a silent, “Thanks.”

Sparky nodded in acknowledgement, then pointed to the kitchen, mimed drinking from a mug, and indicated offering some to Crowley with a questioning look. Crowley considered for a brief moment, pointed to Dean and nodded, then pointed to himself and mouthed, “Tea, please.”

With a little smile, Sparky nodded and headed towards the kitchen. Crowley let his eyes fall shut for a moment and sighed contentedly. The phone in his hand refused to let him drift, though, its solid presence keeping him firmly anchored in the moment. He thumbed the phone on, idly charging it with the tiniest application of power, and tapped the camera icon. It would have been a simple thing to take a selfie with both of them in the frame, call it blackmail material and move on. Crowley angled the lens to focus on Dean’s face, peaceful in slumber. He didn’t need to be in the frame. Smiling to himself, he added the photo to the Flickr album he had made the night before.

It wasn’t long before the smell of fresh brewing coffee began to drift through the cabin. The aroma could have woken the dead, so of course it roused Dean. He rolled and shifted while half asleep so he was on his back, then breathed in deeply and opened his eyes a sliver. Glancing up, he locked eyes with Crowley, then groaned and scrubbed a hand over his face. “What the hell are you still doin’ here? Thought you woulda taken off by now.”

Plastering on his usual flirty smirk was more difficult than it should have been. Crowley blamed the birds. “Darling, what sort of trollop do you take me for?”

Inclining his head back, Dean managed to fully open his eyes, then grinned. “The kind who likes being tied up and — “

“Not always,” Crowley cut him off. “Not by just anyone, and _not_ without my permission.”

Dean chuckled and sat up, sliding his blanket-clad legs down. “Sure thing, Leeloo. I’m just disappointed I can’t get into the trunk of my car to get at the Enochian handcuffs in there.” He shook his head. “To think of all the missed opportunities.”

Okay, Crowley couldn’t argue with that. If Dean ever got to the point where Crowley could trust him like that, it might be worth asking someone non-demonic — like Sparky perhaps — to open the Impala’s boot for them. For the moment though, best not to tempt fate. “Speaking of missed opportunities, the shower is currently free and the other two are still snug in their beds. If you wanted to go scrub up, I’ll wager coffee would be ready by the time you got back.”

Coffee would likely be ready before he got back, but the shower wouldn’t be unoccupied forever, and there was likely a limited amount of hot water at any one time. Dean could do the math, too. Nodding, he stood and stretched, the blanket falling to the floor to reveal the gloriously naked body that had so enraptured Crowley the night before. He didn’t say a word or so much as glance back, but snatched up his jeans from off the floor and climbed the stairs, his bare feet making scarcely a sound.

Without Dean using his lap as a pillow, Crowley had no reason to remain on the sofa any longer. He also had reasons of his own for wanting Dean out of earshot for a few minutes. Standing, Crowley tied the belt on his borrowed robe, told the blanket to fold itself neatly on the sofa, and wandered into the kitchen.

Sparky — in jeans and plaid, and with his hair once more spiked up with a bandana — was lining up coffee mugs on the counter while coffee percolated and the kettle began to whistle. Sugar, coffee whitener, and the honey that Crowley had himself left in the cupboard were on the island in the middle of the kitchen. Half a case of El Sol empties had been gathered up at the end of the counter, waiting to be dealt with. Upon hearing his footsteps, Sparky turned and said, “Oh! Hot water should be about ready. Dean’s up then?”

The shower turned on at that moment. Crowley set a tea bag in a mug and poured his hot water. “Up and about and borrowing your shower. I hope that’s not a problem.”

“No, that’s fine. I’m sure all of us needed a shower after last night.” Sparky moved out of the way until Crowley’s tea was steeping, then poured himself a cup of coffee. “So… you two looked pretty cozy out there. Do I snore, or is there something between you two that, uh, wasn’t there at the bar?”

That was not what Crowley had intended to discuss. He only wanted to find out if Sparky remembered that he and Dean were demons, or if the poor fellow’s brain had blocked it all out. Not everyone reacted well to the news that their childhood tales were real, after all. But instead, Sparky wanted to know something Crowley didn’t exactly have the answer to. “It’s… complicated.”

While adding sugar to his coffee, Sparky said, “Complicated like, you haven’t talked about it? Like, it was just good sex and I’m reading too much into it? Like, it’s a one-sided thing and I should just shut up?”

There was nothing left for Crowley to do but wait while his tea steeped. He could have ignored the question, or even told Sparky to mind his own business, and he would have been justified. There was nobody else he could talk to though, and an entire night of contemplation had yielded nothing but daydreams and fantasies. “Complicated as in, he’s only been a demon for two weeks and I’m not sure if he’s capable of feeling _anything_ positive anymore. Well, anything beyond the physical.”

The sound of metal on ceramic abruptly ceased as Sparky froze, his hand stilled in the middle of stirring his coffee. Ever so slowly, he raised his head to look at Crowley, the turmoil of his thoughts visible on his face. He blinked, then removed the spoon from his cup and set it on the counter. “So that wasn’t a dream. The whole… _demon_ thing. I wasn’t sure.”

Well, that answered that, at least. “Terribly sorry for the loss of your innocence, darling, but no. That was no more a dream than the part where you tormented me and left me unfulfilled. Honestly, you’d make a wonderful demon if you ever felt like selling your soul.”

Sparky slowly shook his head. “I should be freaking out right now. Demons are real and souls are real and I should be freaking _right_ the hell out, but…”

Crowley interrupted, “But you’re human, your brain has had all night to process it, and it’s suddenly not as odd as it should be. The mind is a wonderfully resilient thing.”

Tapping a finger on the countertop, Sparky then picked up his mug and blew on the contents before responding, “Okay, but I have questions. I mean, if there’re demons, then that means there’s a Hell, so does that mean there’s a Heaven? Why would anyone sell their soul if there’s a Heaven?” He gasped. “Does that mean you sold your soul? And _Dean_ sold his soul?”

Crowley held up his hands in an attempt to stem the flood of questions. “Slow down, it’s like talking to a toddler.” He sighed and stirred a spoonful of honey into his tea, leaving the tea bag in to steep a little longer. “Yes, there’s a Heaven, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be but a damn sight better than eternal damnation. People sell their souls for all sorts of reasons, but mostly stupid ones. And no, Dean didn’t — Dean is…. different.”

Frowning, Sparky took a cautious sip of his coffee. “Different how?”

 

Fighting down the urge to snap at Sparky, Crowley said, “It’s a long story, one that would undoubtedly be interrupted. Suffice it to say, Dean’s tarnished and mangled soul is all his, just… newly demonic. It’s a bloody miracle is what it is.”

Sparky looked pensive. “Well then, there’s your answer. He’s different, so you can’t know anything for sure. You need to give it time.”

Not what he wanted to hear, but it could have been worse. Closing his eyes and compressing his lips, Crowley inhaled and exhaled. When he opened his eyes, Sparky was staring at him. “What?” he demanded. “Didn’t your mother teach you it’s not polite to stare?”

That caused Sparky to chuckle softly before responding, “Sorry, it’s just… you’re not how I pictured a demon would look. I mean, aren’t you supposed to have horns and a tail and such?”

To his credit, Crowley didn’t laugh. He calmly removed the tea bag from his cup, then teleported away to one of the many coffee shops he owned (buying up stock in Starbucks had been one of his smarter business decisions), nicked a small container of milk from the walk-in fridge, and teleported back to Sparky’s cabin in the woods. The look on the poor, confused fellow’s face was priceless. Crowley used his powers to open the milk — he was making a point, after all — and added just a splash to his tea. After he took a sip, he finally looked down at his body and said, “Oh, this? Not me. This is merely what I’ve decided to wear for now. I’ve grown rather attached to it. Still, no tail or horns though. Sorry to disappoint.”

Eyes incredulously wide, mouth agape, Sparky leaned back, recoiling slightly. “What the… holy fuck! What the fucking fuck, Pratchett?! I mean, how did you — ? Just... _how?_!”

Crowley smiled and calmly sipped his tea, because this? This was something he could handle. “It’s simple really. I was here, then I wasn’t, and now I am again. Honestly, Sparky, it’s like you’re not even paying attention. Here, allow me to demonstrate. You like waffles? Of course you do, everyone loves waffles.”

Without bothering to wait for Sparky’s response, Crowley teleported to a Belgian waffle shop he happened to own. He only had to show up and place his order. Nobody questioned why he would be ordering while in a fuzzy red robe, and nobody even considered making him wait. Years of sensible business decisions meant his people trusted him, no matter what they saw. Within minutes, he had a box of fluffy waffles dusted with powdered sugar in his hands.

When he returned, Sparky was rinsing out his mug at the kitchen sink. The shower was off, but there was no sign of Dean yet, so he was probably getting dressed. It would have been easy to startle Sparky again, but that would have been counterproductive. Setting the waffle box down on the island made just enough of a sound to catch Sparky’s attention. Crowley waited until he had turned around before announcing, “Honey, I’m home. I’ve brought breakfast.”

From the overwhelmed look on Sparky’s face, it was likely he would launch into another round of confused profanity. Crowley pre-empted that by opening the waffle box. The aroma of hot, fresh waffles wafted from the box, blending with the scent of coffee in the air and cutting off Sparky before he could start. Taking a deep breath, Sparky closed his eyes and smiled. “Okay, that does smell good. I dunno how you do it, but I have to admit, that’s incredibly handy.” Practically burying his face in the box, he inhaled again, then abruptly straightened up. “But how am I supposed to explain these to Em and Clay?”

Reclaiming his moderately warm tea, Crowley shrugged. “Say they were gourmet frozen waffles, specially ordered, and you heated them in the oven. Or say you made them from a mix. Hell, tell them I made them, or that I bought them, I don’t care. Does it matter?”

Sparky took a waffle from the box and bit into it, powdered sugar coating his lips. Obviously savouring it, he closed his eyes and groaned in appreciation. “Oh my god,” he said, mouth still full, “there’s little strawberry bits in it.”

Mission accomplished. He didn’t need to convince Sparky of anything, he only needed to distract Sparky until the idea of demons became commonplace. Crowley used the faintest wisp of power to reheat his tea.

From upstairs came the sounds of footsteps, both descending the stairs and crossing the hall; Dean was done and someone else had awoken. Crowley moved around Sparky and opened cupboards until he located a plate, then snapped his fingers to transport the waffles to the plate. No sense getting messy, after all.

So Sparky couldn’t help. So what? When Crowley had first crawled off the rack, he hadn’t been the most human of creatures. Why should he expect Dean to do so much better? It would take persistent exposure to humanity’s better emotions before Dean Winchester would begin to feel again.

Inhaling loudly, Dean exhaled with a groan as he entered the kitchen. “Mmm, somethin’ smells good.”

Sparky held up what remained of his waffle and indicated the plate. “Pratchett and I have been assembling breakfast. I can only claim credit for the coffee, the waffles were all him.”

Dean glanced pointedly at Crowley. “That so? Huh.” He poured himself a cup of coffee and took a sip. “Ain’t that sweet.”

Glancing at Sparky, Crowley found Sparky looking back at him. While Dean was taking a waffle from the plate, Sparky mouthed the word “time”. Crowley gave him a barely-perceptible nod in return. Whether it took weeks, months, or even years, Crowley could wait for Dean to catch up. He had all the time in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to grey2510 for again wrangling my rogue punctuation. I feel infinitely better about posting something after you've read over it.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who leaves me comments and kudos. Your encouragement is what keeps this story going. Whether it's a paragraph about everything you loved or an incoherent keysmash of delight or a simple "OMG loved it!" it's an instant mood boost, keeping me buoyed throughout the entire day.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this little fluff interlude (and I honestly never thought I'd be describing one of my Crowley fics as "fluff"). I haven't decided what's next up to write. I'll be taking a day or two to consider it, then it'll be back to writing more. If you enjoy watching me flounder through writing, or just want to see the bizarre assortment of things I reblog, you can find me on Tumblr as @thayerkerbasy


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